Curent Manuscript

Joe Travis -
Author

This is a Manuscript

For

El
Vaquero CaballeroFirst in the "Cold War Warrior"
series

By

Joe
Travis

Author’s Notes to the reader;

This
novel, although written about young adults in an adult world, is NOT a
story for youth. It contains the language and themes of an adult world
as expressed in the period of the novel. The second issue is
the fact that certain people in these novels are using telepathy to
communicate and English writing standards have made no provisions for
doing that type of activity. That has forced me to change how certain
things appear in print and the method of presentation of the story. In
writing this story, I have used first and third person present tense as
the best way to express these issues with my characters. What this
means is that in Josh’s chapters you are seeing the story through
the mind and eyes of the person telling that part of the story. In
chapters that are about other characters, primarily Rebecca and one
chapter about Kim is in the third person (me) present tense. At the
beginning of each of Josh’s chapters is his name as presenting
that part of the story. If Josh or one of his sudo-names is present at
the beginning of a chapter it is his thoughts and story you are
reading. The second part of the English language usage issue is how to
differentiate between actual thoughts and telepathic communications.
All thoughts and communications are in italics. Telepathic
communications are shown by italics inside single quotes
(‘’). Regular conversations are indicated with the regular
type face and the usual double quote marks (“”). With that, I invite
you to move forward into this story, with the hope that you enjoy
reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing about these unusual people.

Joe TravisAuthor

Saturday, morning, April 26th, 1958,
Midway Airport, Chicago, IL

Chapter 1

Josh It may not be
the dark and stormy night of fiction writers, but it is surely a cold,
dark, and stormy April morning. It took longer to cover the sixty-five
miles here than expected. My mother is now rushing me through the
terminal, even if we aren’t really late. I know that they are
just starting to load passengers on the plane for the start of my trip
to the Yucatan peninsula of Mexico to work in a CIA training camp. Rushed or not I
take the time to stop at a bookstall and purchase a Spanish-to-English
phrase book. I’m to help my mentor, Carlos Paterson, train
Castro’s Cubans in the tactical use of explosives and long range
shooting. I know and speak no Spanish, and only a little French, so I
feel it prudent to start learning quickly. Like on the plane going to
my first stop Billings, Montana, if the weather co-operates, in my long
and complicated trip. Besides, with those imbedded
thunderstorms, if there isn’t radar on the plane they are loading
now, I’m going to delay my departure until this afternoon’s
flight. Not in this weather, I’m not going to fly without radar!
I can hear thunder rumbling outside now as I pay the clerk for the
book. Why should I take the chance on running into one of those
thunderstorms in the clouds? There isn’t going to be anyone
waiting for me in Billings, Montana when the plane arrives anyway.

The part of the
story I gave the school, to get out a month early, about my grandma
having fallen and breaking her hip is true. However, the family in
Powell is caring for her, and can’t be chasing up to Billings
just to give me a ride. Carlos Paterson, my mentor and boss, has
already returned to Mexico where he has been since the previous
November. He was only back in the country long enough to arrange for me
to join him. When I arrive in Powell, Wyoming, I’m to wait at my
Uncle Jim’s home until contacted.

As I stand in line
at the Northwest Airlines counter, I make the mental shift in my
identity. Carlos had used my dead, four-year-older brother’s
birth certificate to get me a Social Security card and my job at
Standard Oil several years ago, as I was too young to work there. So,
now when ever I go out there to work, I have to change identities. I
assist Carlos in supporting the seismology crews that Standard Oil has
working in Wyoming and Montana. We plant and set off the explosive
charges that they use to see the underground rock structures. I took my
own ID out of my wallet before I left home this morning and exchanged
it for Roger’s as I have every summer since. From this point on,
I will think of myself only as Roger. I have even bought the airline
tickets in Roger's name. I hope mom and dad never find out I'm using
Roger’s identity to do these things. While making that
shift in thinking I glance out the door to the flight ramp. It is
raining hard. Not an auspicious beginning to this adventure, I muse. I
wonder what I'll be flying in to get to Billings. I've flown on
DC-6’s a couple of times now and hope it'll be one of their
deluxe Boeing Stratocrusers this trip as I've never flown on one of
those yet.

Then through the
mist I see on the ramp sits one of Northwest Airlines Stratocrusers in
the latest livery. I also note the lack of radar in the nose of the
bird. I stand there trying to decide whether to wait until this
afternoon when I know the weather will improve. Then, despite the
rotten weather, as I am excited about finally getting to ride in one of
the renowned deluxe international transports I stay in the line. Doing as Carlos has
trained me, I look around the terminal to check out the people around
me. Then I see three men walking towards me. The older man, apparently
leading the group of businessmen, is in a tan trench coat, and fedora.
A younger man, similarly dressed, is listening to what ever his last
minute instructions are. Looking at the scene, I wonder which of those
characters I’ll be playing in the future. The guy trailing behind
slightly, I now realize is their driver and is carrying someone’s
bags. Most likely, the older man is going to be flying with me, I
surmise. I also have the impression that this man is more than just a
businessman. I start to look into his mind when my attention is drawn
back to the counter, “Sir..., your ticket and bags please,”
the cute dark haired, blue eyed, girl behind the counter asks, bringing
my attention back to where it should already have been.

“Yes,
ma'am,” I manage as I turn my attention back to what I am doing
and pass my suitcase through the hole in the counter and pass the
requested ticket across the top of the counter. I also note her
nametag, Janet. Then despite her obvious charms, my attention goes back
to the men behind me. The first two are still in serious conversation
and have stopped several feet behind me. Relaxing a little, my mind
goes back out to the rain soaked ramp and its airplane. I think I'll
see if I can ride up front with the crew for at least part of the
flight when again my rambling thoughts are interrupted with, “Mr.
Roger Saunders, here are your boarding pass and luggage claim
tickets.”

Regardless of what
I look like or my ID says, at seventeen, going on eighteen, I'm not
used to having people refer to me as “Mr.” anything and it
again took me moment to respond. As I turn back to the girl looks down
at my name on the ticket as she comments, with a smile, “Not used
to being spoken to formally, Roger?”

“No,
ma'am,” I didn't mention I wasn't used to the name
“Roger” yet either. I would though get used to it quickly,
as I have every summer for the past three years. Everyone on the
seismology crews I work with think my name is Roger. Not that it
matters much, as they generally all call me, “Cowboy.” My
first couple of summers in Wyoming I had worked on a cattle ranch on
the South Fork of the Yellowstone River. Therefore, in summers like
now, I wear western clothes, but almost never wear them when I’m
at home in Indiana.

With a nod of the
head, I collect the tickets and boarding pass making sure to smile at
her nicely, and trying to make sure that I not make physical contact
with her. Doing so will automatically open her mind to me and I really
don't need that this morning. That is the ban of my life, this ability
to read minds to a limited extent. In the beginning, I had to have
continuous physical contact to do so, though now when exposed to
extended social intercourse, as in school, I have started picking up
other peoples’ thoughts even when there has been no contact.
Carlos and David Walks-as-Bear, my mentors in these matters, have been
working with me for the past six years. They are teaching me how to
control this strange ability and how to use it wisely. We will see. My
mind is constantly picking up others thoughts. That is why I chose to
work in the mountains, far away from that constant interference with my
mind. “Have a
good flight, sir. Also could you do me a favor and tell Kim, the
stewardess that'll be taking your ticket on the plane, that I'll be out
as soon as I check in this last passenger?”“Certainly, Janet,” I say
as I tip my Stetson and leave the counter to go say goodbye to my
parents patiently waiting by the door. Yes, I did read her mind, it
wasn’t deliberate, and sometimes it just happens. Hum, her
thoughts are interesting though.